


Care to Dance?

by HowardR



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Fluff, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:35:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24053761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowardR/pseuds/HowardR
Summary: Pacifica Northwest (and she couldn't emphasize this enough) *didn't* have a crush.
Relationships: Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	Care to Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> Full credit to Alex Hirsch for making the show. This is explicitly meant to take place both during and directly after the episode 'Northwest Mansion Mystery'.

“You would _dare_ disobey us?!”

Her hand reached for the lever, ignoring the outraged protest. It was close, _so_ close, close enough that she could feel the whispers of sensation on her skin.

The image of Dipper, frozen, a wooden block, flashed in her mind.

_My fault._

_...But I will fix this._

She could almost hear the pounding footsteps of the approaching crowd…

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-_

She froze.

_The bell._

Images flashed in her mind. A golden sheen in the harsh chandelier light of her room as her father trained her to be, quote, ‘the perfect daughter’.

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-_

She stood, still as ice.

_Still as a block of wood._

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-_

_I will do what is right._

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-_

_I will fix my mistake._

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling…_

God, it _wouldn’t stop!_

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-_

_It wouldn’t stop!!_

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-_

Her hand faltered. Her fingers clenched, her rigid posture came slightly undone, the tension in her spine magnified.

In response, the bell ringing became more insistent.

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling…_

_It wouldn’t STOP!!!_

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling…_

And, suddenly, the words hit her.

_It wouldn’t stop._

_It would_ _never_ _stop._

_...Unless I make it._

“Is this thing broken?” Her father said, tone indignant, as if _that_ might _genuinely_ be the problem. “Ring-a-ling!” He accentuated mockingly as he rung the bell with greater force.

_Ring-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling…_

“The only thing that’s _broken_ is our family legacy!” She exclaimed, turning towards her parents. Her posture was rigid, straight, exactly as she had been taught to stand. With confidence.

_“Because you’re a Northwest,”_ Her father whispered in her ear.

_“Maybe you can break the chain,”_ Dipper whispered back. Like the angel on her shoulder.

“And I’m going to _fix_ it!”

Her hand grabbed the lever before she could turn back on the decision.

And the rampant sound of footsteps approached.

* * *

“Hey.”

She glanced over at the person standing next to her, trying to shake off her myopic haze. Dipper grinned at her, half teasing and half giddy.

It was a good look on him. And, admittedly, the suit did do him a big favor when it came to his looks.

But that _hat…_

She had to repress a horrified shiver at the thought of that gift shop monstrosity.

“Look at what we’re standing on.”

She glanced down. A gasp tore into her throat.

The carpet.

_The_ carpet.

Her gasp was one of pure horror. Because her shoes were muddy. She instinctively shifted one of them, but it merely spread the thick mud further.

And Dipper’s shoes were muddy too.

She spent the smallest moment tempted at the idea of leaping off the carpet and dragging Dipper with her. After all, that was _the_ carpet. The one she was barely allowed to walk on with _clean_ shoes, and even then, only in the last six months when she could be trusted not to disturb something.

But then, she remembered the mocking voice of her father, harmonized with the high-pitched ring of a golden bell.

_“Ring-a-ling!”_

And she laughed. It carved its way through her throat like knives, hurting her in a way far too deep for words, and yet, she felt warmth curl comfortably in her stomach as Dipper began to laugh, too.

She impulsively tipped something onto the carpet, and, in high spirits, Dipper followed suit, tipping a tray of some hellishly expensive appetizer so that the food fell onto the shining white fabric.

It felt good.

It felt _good._

Her laughs trailed off as she glanced down at the mess they had made. And yet, the horror that would have risen in her breast just a day ago was nowhere to be found in the knot of emotion in her stomach.

“But seriously, I’d better go find someone to clean this up,” she said anyway, a smile still stuck on her face. And yet, the strain that she felt on her cheeks whenever she had to smile at her ‘friends’ was gone from her face.

It was odd. 

It should have scared her.

...It didn’t.

She trotted off to do just as she had said, though the smile refused to leave her face as she did.

* * *

“Pacifica!”

She turned at the sound, and found Dipper grinning at her, standing on the massive, formerly polished oak floor. You could still see patches of varnish, but bits of mud, dirt and anonymous stains covered too much of it for it to still be called ‘polished’. For some reason, he was once again wearing his dark blue jacket and _god-awful_ trucker hat, but, compared to that hillbilly she had seen drag him off just a moment ago, he was positively _dressed-up._

And wasn’t that a terrifying thought?

“Great party!” Dipper exclaimed, eyes wide and bright as if to convey his message with greater fervor. His lashes were oddly long, she noted, glinting in the candlelight and reflecting off his warm amber-brown eyes.

She scoffed.

“As if. The riffraff from outside have _ruined_ the varnish - and why did you change? I swear, that shade of blue on your jacket is just…”

She made a face of pure disgust. Dipper laughed.

“Well, at least _I’m_ comfortable! Can you say the same?”

“Well, I’m not comfortable with the pungent odour that hillbilly is emitting…” She mumbled in answer. Dipper responded as if she hadn’t spoken.

“And besides, must I remind you who let the ‘riffraff’ in?”

She pointed an accusing finger at him, though an unwelcome grin had begun to stretch her face.

“That was just to save-”

_You._ Her mind finished helpfully.

“My family reputation, and you know it!”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah… so, what exactly is the _point_ of this big empty room? Or do all rich people just have an extra room that’s utterly useless, and so, simply polish it up to make it look more useful then it is.”

Though it was a question, his sentence sounded more like a statement.

“It’s _supposed_ to be a ball room, but nobody is going to play music for _these…_ people?”

She said the last word like it was a term up for debate. Dipper laughed, seemingly despite himself.

“Well, in that case…”

He grinned a roguish, teasing grin. He held out a single small, pale hand - she noticed that it had a fair share of scares on it - and his eyes glittered with mischief.

“Care to dance?” He said with an exaggerated snooty voice, flipping his hair dismissively to the side and raising one eyebrow in a shockingly accurate impression of her last suitor.

She couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her lips, though she quashed it quickly enough that she could hope Dipper didn’t notice. If he did, he didn’t show it.

She put on her best disgusted face and stared at the hand as if it were a dead rat. Finally, she answered begrudgingly,

“If you take off that god-awful hat. I may be seen with a middle-classmen, though my parents would hate it,” 

And why did her pulse hitch at that thought?

“But someone wearing a trucker hat? Never.”

Dipper sighed exaggeratedly, stooping his head (presumably so as not to show the small smile on his face, but she noticed it anyway).

“Well, if I _must…”_

He grabbed the hat by the brim and swept it off his forehead, sticking it into one of his now brown-leather pockets. He extended the hand once more and, again, raised an eyebrow, though this time it had an expectant edge instead of a teasing one.

She (albeit reluctantly, though, oddly enough, more willingly then she had expected) grabbed the offered hand, and was easily swept into a twirl. She spun with it, movements practiced and graceful, until she was righted and brought into an easy slow dance with more finesse then she had expected.

“How do you know how to dance?” Her voice was, startlingly, genuinely curious, though there was a shocked edge to it that she hoped distracted from that.

Then she wondered why she would hope Dipper would be distracted from her curiosity.

“Oh, I know lots of things.” He answered cryptically. She raised an eyebrow.

“ _Oh,_ really?” She said, the first sound drawn out mockingly. Dipper didn’t seem to catch the subtle jab at his phrasing.

“Yep.”

“Like what then, Pines?”

He grinned, though it had an oddly dark edge to it. When he spoke, his voice was bright - but it was a harsh brightness, forceful and sharp, quite nearly manic. His pupils had dilated oddly, and the smooth dancing became slightly stiff as he answered obediently,

“Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold.” The end seemed oddly like it had been cut short for a reason she couldn’t put her finger on.

She snorted, though the image of that sharp shark’s grin stuck in her mind.

“As if. We have enough gold, thank you.”

Dipper laughed again. His head fell back as he did, and, with it, his movements became slow and easy once more.

He was surprisingly good at dancing, considering what a clutz he was.

“But really,” he said finally, his head falling forward again. He maintained eye contact, and for some reason, she felt compelled to glance away from the too-long lashes and smoky amber irises. “Mom forced me to learn properly when Mabel asked me to go with her to my sixth grade dance. It was torture, but Mabel enjoyed herself, so…” He smiled. “Worth it.”

She huffed slightly. “That is so…”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“... _Typical.”_ She finished. Dipper mock-gasped.

“Oh no, my worst nightmare - finally being normal! Whatever shall I do?!”

She laughed despite herself. As it tapered off, though, Dipper grinned an oddly teasing grin at her.

And suddenly, he pulled her close.

_..._ _Too_ _close._

She could count the eyelashes that fluttered slightly with every blink of his eyes, and decipher the smoky haze of those bright amber eyes. She could catch the glint of his shiny teeth, and could notice the small, perfectly triangular chip taken out of one of them. Every criss-crossing strand of his jacket and the streams of polyester of his orange shirt were on full display, and she noticed that his hand had left her hip, vanishing.

There was still the smallest, most teasing smile gracing his lips, and yet, the familiar sensation of indignant rage never welled.

Instead, her fingers twitched with the odd desire to clench into a fist, and she stumbled slightly while dancing for the first time in four years.

Her pulse _didn’t_ hitch.

Her breath _didn’t_ catch.

And that was when she felt the pressure on her head.

She backed up from pure instinct, raising two arms up and onto the intrusion on her perfect hair. And, atop her head, she found-

A hat.

She removed it, brow furrowed, and found herself staring at a bright blue pine tree.

…

_Oh god._

She dropped the hat like it was on fire, hopping back from it with what she was sure was an expression of pure horror. She went bug-eyed as she stared at the white-and-blue trucker hat now lying innocently on the ground, and repressed the urge to shriek.

Dipper was laughing, she realized belatedly. A bright, amused laugh that seemed to bounce around inside her ears.

“You...you…” she couldn’t help but splutter.

“Oh, come on - it looked good on you!” He laughed. She finally felt the familiar anger, and scowled heavily at him.

“I can’t believe you just…”

She trailed off, unable to put the horrific event into words. Dipper chuckled one last time, though his grin was unfaltering.

“You can believe in a lumber jack ghost returning for vengeance a hundred and fifty years after the event which made him vengeful took place, but not that I put a hat on your head?”

“That… _thing_ is not a hat!” She nearly _shrieked._ “It’s an insult to all things fashionable!”

“And it looked good on you!” He retorted, putting the hat on his head with a single motion. “What does that make you?”

“Someone who _severely_ doubts that that… _thing_ looked good on anyone, even the splendor that is Pacifica Northwest.”

“And she’s so humble, too.” Dipper added in a perfect deadpan.

“I know! But, even with the world’s best wearer on its side, that _thing_ could never be an actual article of clothing - just a vestigial remnant of what was once a hat.”

Dipper chuckled. “Good to see your use of four-syllable words hasn’t been stunted by this traumatic incident.”

“Please.” She answered. “Don’t insult me. As if _anything_ could do that.”

Dipper laughed cheerily.

* * *

Pacifica found that, as the evening wore on, time seemed to fly by far quicker then it did normally during parties. It must have been the riffraff she let in.

And, when she went to bed that night, she was wearing a smile.

But _no,_ she certainly _wasn’t_ thinking about a certain amber-eyed mysterious boy.

She simply couldn’t sleep properly because of the traumatic experience she had just had.

That was it.

That was _it._

…

No, she didn’t have a crush.

Northwests don’t get crushes.

And that was when Dipper’s voice would conveniently whisper in her ear.

_“Maybe you can break the chain.”_

…

_She didn’t have a crush._

And that was what she repeated to herself, far into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, once upon a time I did Wendy x Dipper, but, unfortunately, I am now a total Dipcifica sinner. Woe is me.
> 
> Thanks for any and all support, like comment and subscribe.
> 
> -Howard R.
> 
> P.S: I might end up continuing this at some point, because I am totally enamored with it.


End file.
